I feel like this shouldn't be news.

My sister Chloe and I discovered the other day that a woman we know struggles with an eating disorder. I wouldn't normally mention something like this in a public forum, and I do not do so lightly now. I share it only because of the conversation this discovery prompted between Chloe and myself.


I don't remember the entire course of the conversation, but I remember saying, "well, refusing to love yourself until you deem yourself worthy of love is never, ever, ever going to work. That's just not how that works."

I said this expecting something along the lines of a nod of assent from my sister, but instead she said "Oh."


She didn't know.


Is this a thing that people don't know? Have I somehow been lucky enough to stumble into this patch of truth by accident?  Do you punish and withhold love from yourself?

I asked her whether this was something I should have said years ago, and she told me that I should write it. So hear is what I need you to understand:

Refusing to love yourself until you are "worthy" is never going to work. It is never going to make you better. It will never work because it isn't possible to build yourself up while you are tearing yourself down. It will never work because you will never deem yourself worthy until you are perfect, and you never will be. It will never work because people don't reach their full potential when they are living in the shadow of disgust and disapproval and criticism--they reach their full potential when they are forgiven, loved and encouraged and supported. So try this for a change: love yourself. Respect yourself. Forgive yourself.

When you royally screw up--like you will and like I will and like everyone else--apologize, set right what you can, and carry on. What good comes from flagellating yourself?

Forgive, encourage, and support yourself--as you would a beloved child--and see how you grow. See what you can do.

From both sides of the border.

Written in the early afternoon:

The things I have evidently not been allowing myself to remember to talk about are building. I'm in such a terrible mood today. I'm so disappointed in myself--in my actions, in my thoughts, in who I am.


Don't worry, I'll probably stop being so emo soon.


But I miss David today, which, to be frank, is awful. Off and on I've been missing being-in-a-relationship, obviously, but today my brain jumped to him without permission, and I started yelling profanities in the car.

I am considering the idea of listing things with which I am running out of patience.


Written in the early evening:

As I had hoped, the bad mood has lessened with the progression of the day, with work, with the eating of thin mints and the enjoyment of NPR. The level of deliciousness present in the common thin mint cookie simply defies reason. It doesn't even make sense how tasty they are.

It occurred to me as I walked down those exterior stairs into the basement where I've been painting that, although an argument could be made that this was just a "bad day," such an argument should not be made. Yes, Augie threw up some small pieces of plastic this morning. Yes, I was late to church for no reason. Yes, my brain jumped to David and yes I've been sinking energy into this one obnoxious-as-hell Godforsaken website (not blogger, of course) for a week or two and I'm getting sick of it, but those things should not be allowed to dictate my mood. And they don't. I dictate it. I am in charge. It's a good thing to remember.

Currently I'm waiting for Augie to digest his dinner for a little while before taking him for a walk, then I'll be heading to Kelly's. I've been unintentionally flaky and obnoxious toward her this weekend, and she is so forgiving. I don't deserve it. Why does she like me, again?

Also, please, for the love of God, do not ever let me get a dog. I do not want a dog. Ever. Ever, ever, ever, ever, f-ing ever. They're sweet and everything, but for me, the walking and the feeding and the poop-scooping and vomit-cleaning and the inability to leave them for any length of time and the vet's bills and the training and so on are so not worth it. Not even close to worth it. Also, I loathe puppy eyes. The dominance of this part of me varies depending on my mood and level of fatigue and so on, but it is always there.



Lastly, and unrelatedly, I love poetry. Some of you people who are theoretically reading this probably already know that. Apparently April is National Poetry Month here in the states, which I've probably realized before but never bothered to try to remember. It's awesome though. Awesome. This information courtesy of nateshorb.

In honor of all this and also because I just now remembered, here's a poem that this morning I was thinking of posting. It is by John Donne. You may recognize it. It's been my anthem off and on for a long time now.

Batter my heart, three-person'd God; for, you
as yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
that I may rise, and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend
your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new.

I, like an usurped town, to another due,
labor to admit you, but oh, to no end,
reason your viceroy in me, me should defend,
but is captived, and proves weak or untrue.

Yet dearly "I love you," and would be loved fain,
but am betrothed unto your enemy:
divorce me, untie, or break that knot again;
take me to you, imprison me, for I

except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
nor ever chaste, except you ravish me.

(Sonnets FTW. Traditional paragraph breaks inserted by me for ease of reading/decoding.)


Okay and lastly for real this time, whilst typing the above and deciding on a case-by-case basis whether to preserve or update archaic spelling and punctuation, I was reminded of this most excellent song by a band known as Vampire Weekend:



Aside from the excellence of the music, I would like you to note the fact that this entire video is one continuous shot.

We had one of those long, mostly substantive talks.

Some lessons learned via said conversation:


I am doing nobody any favors by aspiring to become a career receptionist. That's idiotic.

Mutable schedules? No. Things happen When They Are Scheduled. Even if I am the one who scheduled them. Period.
      I will get up at 9 or earlier. Period.* This "sleeping until I have something to do" thing has got to stop.
     Art Time will be from 10-noon.**
     Other things can be scheduled around these.



On another note, the palette of the river has been so lovely lately. All made up of the most delicate shades of purple, blue, pink, and grey. Every time I cross it I wish I could just stop on the bridge and get out, and stare or paint or at the very least take pictures. I love going with people to the river, but I always feel pushed to move on more quickly than I would to the next thing. Left to my own devices I will sometimes just look at the water for an hour or more. Usually, of course, there is something else that needs to be done before so much time has passed. I sat with David by the river once, the powerful Rappahannock, a week after we broke up. We just watched the water rush by, and talked very little as I remember. That night we were rushed to dinner only by the cold of a March evening.


I left my tea like an idiot while I got dressed earlier, and I let it steep far too long. It's bitter. And I have promised myself to cut back on the ungodly amounts of honey I use in tea, so I am just drinking it bitter. English Breakfast tea, too. What a shame. Still, it's nice to have time to drink tea in the morning. And all because I got out of bed at 9ish. Mmmm.































*Well, my alarm went off at 9 today, but I actually "got up" about 15-20 minutes later. But that's a start, right? Particularly considering that I don't have anywhere to be until nearly 11.

**I felt a lot more adamant about this last night, but I am going to try to stick with it, even if only for the sake of having some structure in my day, and particularly something to get up for. For discipline. And I think  better when I spend time painting. I breathe better. Maybe I'll add "blank stretched canvasses" to that Christmas list. And Bailey's. Did I say Bailey's before? And dark brown Uggs. Don't judge me. They're the warmest things I have ever put on my feet.